


deals done in the dark

by awkwardwritersyndrome



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Break Up, Cunnilingus, Drinking, F/F, Face-Fucking, Modern AU, Recreational Drug Use, Threesome - F/F/F, Tribbing, asami is a bitchy ceo, dont proceed if you hate korra and asami breaking up, i wrote all this stupid plot to justify the f/f face fucking scene, new tags incoming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:55:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27521884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awkwardwritersyndrome/pseuds/awkwardwritersyndrome
Summary: Korra is working on getting over Asami, and even with the help of her friends, Mako and Bolin, she's unsuccessful in her efforts.To add insult to injury, Asami's new girlfriend is the Wall Street powerhouse, Kuvira Beifong.Cue the choatic and sexually charged love triangle.
Relationships: Korra/Asami Sato, Korra/Kuvira (Avatar), Korra/Kuvira/Asami Sato, Kuvira/Asami Sato
Comments: 42
Kudos: 153





	1. deals done in the dark

Animals. That’s the best way, if not the only way, to describe the stockbrokers screaming on the floor of the New York Stock Exchange. It makes sense that they’re often called bears and bulls, their yelling sounds like the snarls of beasts. Collectively, they smell like designer cologne, day old sweat, and expired toothpaste. Chaos unfolds everyday on the floor, followed by borderline immoral disregard for the aftermath. Cities topple, monopolies rise, and the same circus opens its doors the next day. 

It’s a show of legally ambiguous financial acrobatics. Every broker is a ring leader wearing a top hat, and they’re dead set on pleasing the crowd. Money is the applause. Nothing else matters.

Kuvira used to be one of them, hustling around with a phone glued to her ear, spitting out numbers and trading insults, hoping one day she’d make a deal no one could overlook. Back in 2008, when everyone was reeling from the housing market crash, Kuvira jumped on an investment trail that turned out to be a spring oasis in the middle of a desert. Her, and a few dozen investors, never even felt the blows of the recession. They paid into a moderately sized land development firm and rode the profit wave straight into the next decade. Twelve years later, Kuvira only comes down to the Stock Exchange to keep an eye on her bears and bulls.

Beifong Inc. is now a global powerhouse for investment. Kuvira’s overseen nine straight quarters in the black—an unprecedented streak of good fortune. Unsurprisingly, there’s an endless amount of hoary men who only refer to her as _the woman that runs things over there_ because her presence amongst the upper echelon of financiers is an insult to their egos. She gorges herself with their jeers and condescending remarks. Their insult is her fuel.

As she watches the tiny figures scurrying about in black suits, she falls into a daydream. Her focus wanes and the sounds of the business day disappear. 

“Any blood yet?” The voice pierces through her reverie. Quiet, soliciting, smooth. It’s Asami whispering in her ear. The breathy words are unnaturally cool, like she just finished a pack of mints. It tickles.

“I wish,” Kuvira yawns. Her elbows are braced against the railing of the balcony overlooking the floor, her hands dangle over the edge like flitting leaves. She’s an unnoticed presence in the sky except for Asami’s heavy gaze. There’s no one else around them because the area’s closed off to regular employees, only notable visitors are allowed on the higher floors.

Asami lets her hand rest on the small of Kuvira’s back as she leans in close. The prospect of someone seeing them like this is what makes the small gesture thrilling. Sato Trust, LLC is just one of many competitors, but there’s only two women CEOs in the game, which makes their dynamic a precarious one. Any suspicion of them having a close working relationship would cover the front page of every newspaper, magazine, and tabloid in America. 

Everyone knows insider trading is illegal. Fucking in the bathroom at the bar in the W Hotel is not. Public perception construes the two, however, so they halfheartedly hide their affections—lingering in dark hallways, meeting in empty conference rooms, and barely touching on remote balconies—doing it for fun as much as posterity. Their success props the door open for more women to follow, and a scandal would slam that door shut, so they toe the line...for now.

* * *

“Are you crying?”

Korra spins away from Mako standing in her office doorway. There’s not much distance between them, her office is one of the smallest, crowded by her black metal desk, glass bookshelf, and black chairs. The white walls give the illusion of space but they’re sterile in an unsettling kind of way. It’s like a small quirky doctor’s office, or a car salesman’s cubicle. 

She hunches over to hide her frantic attempt to wipe away her tears. The Justin Timberlake break up song blaring from her computer betrays her efforts. Of course she’s crying. 

“No!”

“Are you kidding me,” Mako groans. The way he rolls his eyes is both loving and annoyed. This isn’t his first time catching Korra like this. 

He invites himself in and walks behind the desk. With both hands firmly on the armrest, he stares directly into Korra’s watery blue eyes. “ _You_ dumped _her_. Pull it together, woman!”

 _Technically,_ Korra thinks. She was the one who finally said it, but the whole night was something out of a bad rom-com when she finally got up the nerve to end things. 

> “This isn’t working.” Korra stood in Asami’s top-floor office, drenched down to her underwear from the rainy walk over, quickly losing the air in her chest.
> 
> “I know, and I really wish it had turned out differently, K.”
> 
> “I hate when you call me that. I told you—”
> 
> “So sorry. _Korra_ , I want nothing but the best for you, and you’re absolutely right, we’re growing apart, I’m not emotionally available, and you’re really trying to commit to your career. So admirable.”
> 
> “I didn’t say—” 
> 
> “You didn’t have to,” Asami said abruptly, punctuating her words by closing the make-up applicator she’d been using to inspect a small blemish near her nose. It was as if she’d heard Korra’s speech in advance, prepared a response, and cut out all the emotional and awkward bits. 
> 
> Before Korra knew it, she was accepting a quick departing kiss, and Asami was leaving her in the office with some vague instructions about getting her things out of the house by Monday.

“Who’s to say who broke up with who. It’s all very unclear,” Korra insists, pushing Mako’s hands off the chair so she can stand. As she rounds the desk to escape his judgement, Bolin blocks her path out of the office.

“Friends! What’s for lunch, I’m starving?” The way he rubs his belly makes Korra frown. 

“Not now, Bolin. I’m having a moment.”

“At least you’re being honest with him.”

“One more thing from you and I’m gonna kick your—”

Bolin throws his arms up and places his body between them as if they were about to brawl, always one for dramatics. “Woah woah, let’s not fight over pretty ladies in suits. Can’t we all just love each other?”

“ _Shut up, Bolin_ ,” they snapped in unison. 

* * *

One of the many perks of working for a professional basketball team is the free food. The Nets put out a buffet of lunch items every day for the corporate staff. Once the GM and President pick through whatever catches their eyes, and head back to their gaudy offices, everyone else shuffles into the cafe area to their usual spots. Korra, Mako, and Bolin take their seats by the wall of windows and eat quietly. It only takes a few minutes of loud chewing before Bolin breaks the silence.

He looks back and forth between Korra and Mako in an attempt to read their minds. “I know what you guys are thinking, ‘this is why we don’t date each other’s exes.’ And you’re both so right. But let’s not forget one important thing here— _we_ ” he waves his sandwich around between them, “were all friends before Asami came along. That’s saying something.”

Mako frowns at the mention of his botched college romance with Asami. Before he ended his basketball career with a nasty ACL tear, they were talking about spending their lives together. Turned out, she wasn’t really into _former_ college basketball stars, so she dumped him a week before senior night, where he planned on dropping down on one braced knee and proposing. Korra was the one who talked the jeweler into a full refund for the ring.

“What exactly does it say, bro? I’m all ears.” 

His glare strikes fear into Bolin’s heart, which he tries to swallow alongside a healthy mouthful of turkey sandwich. The response is muffled by bread and lunch meat, saving him from putting his foot further into his mouth.

“Honestly, it’s not about the fact that we both dated her,” Korra begins. She swirls her iced coffee around and watches the creams blend into the blackness until it’s a warm brown color. “It’s that she had something special...with both of us, really...but it was so easy for her to leave.”

Mako’s gaze softens a bit. His frustration with Korra’s moping is less about her emotional well being, and more to do with his own poorly healed wounds. Seeing Korra’s pain everyday renews his disappointment. 

“Forget her,” he huffs. With all the fury of a disgruntled customer at Chili’s, Mako slams his fork down into his pad thai and sits up a little straighter. “We’re not going to let her control our lives any more. Yeah she’s hot. So what? There’s lots of hot women out there...with shiny long hair, and a billion dollar fortune, and beautiful green eyes that look like emeralds in the morning—”

“This isn’t helping.” Korra’s face flattens listening to his awful attempt at a pep talk. She can’t blame him though, Asami has that _thing_. An indescribable characteristic that makes her impossible to forget.

Mako rubs tiny circles into his temples, his head returns to a defeated bow. “She’s like a top 40 pop song. I don’t want to sing about a Party In The USA, but here I am, singing at the top of my lungs. I’ll never know peace.”

Bolin finally takes a break from eating and tries once more to be helpful. “If it’s any consolation, I heard someone say she’s dating that Beifong chick from the 60 Minute special. Kuv-something.”

Korra and Mako glance at each other and quickly agree that it’s no consolation at all. 

“ _Shut up, Bolin_.” 

* * *

When the door to Kuvira’s 5th Avenue condo unlocks she continues texting her head of operations in Japan. Her back is to the entrance, but she knows only three people have the code—herself, the housekeeper, and Asami—so there’s no need to look. Plus, the sound of thousand dollar Miu Miu pumps on the imported marble flooring is quite distinctive. 

Every footstep sends a clicking noise echoing through the room. The acoustics make everything sound bigger, bolder, more expensive. The decor is cold and minimalistic, made up of polished metals and white leather. Floor-to-ceiling windows give the illusion of a cliff that drops off into Central Park. Streetlights and the glow of the city provide a starry view at night. It never gets old.

Kuvira picks up on the slowly paced taps as Asami makes her way from the coat rack to the bar cart. “Long day,” she asks over her shoulder.

“The longest. Our little trist on the balcony was the only moment I got to myself. We’re down two points today and investors think it’s the end of the world.” She kicks off her shoes, vodka tonic in hand, and pads over to the oversized sectional.

Still texting with one hand, Kuvira mindlessly lays the other on Asami’s foot and presses her thumb into the sole. “Investors are like children. When left to their own devices they become dangerously aware of their free will. They panic. Best to keep them on a short leash.”

Asami huffs. The pressure on her sore foot is almost erotic, but it’s Kuvira’s straightforward retort that makes her shift in her seat. _This woman is divine,_ she thinks.

“Easy for you to say. Most of us aren’t coming off 18 months of profit.”

“Even more reason to watch the children closely.” Kuvira finally sits her phone down and takes Asami’s other foot. She continues massaging with her full attention on the other woman. “Don’t let them think they have power. Limit their withdrawals, restrict their accounts, and put your people to good use. There’s no reason every banker at the firm shouldn’t be pushing diversified portfolios day in and day out.” 

The even, measured flow of Kuvira’s words is hypnotic. Every syllable is underlined with a conviction that’s born of confidence, or cunning, or both. It’s impossible to read her dour expressions, they never reveal her true intent. All anyone can do, Asami included, is drink in her elocution, and hope to earn a glimpse into her mind. _What a beautiful mind_.

“I love these free consultations,” Asami admits. She means to sound indifferent but Kuvira notices a slight drawl, the quick glances at her lips, and the way Asami’s legs spread unconsciously. 

“Who said this was free advice?”

Asami grins before she can hide her excitement. She knows exactly what currency Kuvira deals in—pleasure.

* * *

The Barclay Center comes alive the night before a game. Part time staff show up to get their uniforms and post assignments. The facility techs assemble the court and sideline equipment. Everything has to be in perfect condition for early morning practice the next day. NBA players get unreasonably grumpy when their game-day routines are interrupted by “technical difficulties” at the arena. 

Because Bolin and Korra work in the PR department, they have to ensure all the minutiae are taken care of well before visiting teams show up. Are the posters hung? Did the free t-shirts come in? Does the DJ have his script for the away team’s intros? Tedious details make or break the relationship with rival teams. There are no allegiances on the court, but in the offices, there are mutual agreements that benefit the entire league. They make sure the terms of those agreements are met.

Bolin tosses a kernel of popcorn in his mouth as they sit in the nosebleeds overlooking the court assembly process. “How are you feeling? Still got the Asami Blues?”

Korra tosses her leg over the armrest and spreads out like a true retired jock. “I guess so...maybe. How am I supposed to get over her without closure, ya know?”

Bolin nods sagely, as if he has any experience with heartbreak. Of the three friends, he’s been the most settled since they graduated college. Everyone thought his fling with their sports medicine TA, Iknik, would fizzle out as soon as the allure of breaking university rules wore off. Turns out, they actually compliment each other really well. Still, he tries to be helpful. “When I broke up with Opal I felt the same way.”

 _Here we go_ , Korra thought. This is his only reference for romantic failings, and it isn’t all that poignant. Opal got an engineering job in Seattle working on wind turbines, and Bolin didn’t want to move. End of story. 

“This is _nothing_ like your break up with Opal. There are literally zero parallels.” Korra’s face screws into a vexed knot.

“Hmmm...you have a point there.” Bolin eats a few more bits of popcorn while his half-baked empathy sets in. “Still, I can tell you feel pretty crappy about it.”

Korra chortles at his oafish attempts to help. “Thanks, Bolin. You’re a great friend.”

“I know, I know. It’s just who I am.”

They settle into a silence that proves to be a bit too loud. Korra taps on her elevated leg while she thinks (a little too much) about her ex. She gets stuck on the bit of gossip that Bolin shared the other day, something about a potential new fling.

If he was paying any attention at all, he might have stopped her from pulling out her phone and opening Google. 

_K U V 60 Minutes interview._

The first result is for a Youtube video with over a million views. The cover photo is the back of Lesley Stahl’s head, slightly out of focus, with a stunning woman in the center of the frame. She’s tall, even sitting down, with broad shoulders, and a muted green suit that couldn’t have cost anything less than two grand. 

Korra’s eyes almost eject themselves from her skull. She was hoping that Asami had moved on to someone a little less...gorgeous, to say the least. 

The title of the video was _Women In Power: Kuvira Beifong is transforming the culture on Wall Street_. A few clicks of the volume button ensures Bolin won’t hear once Korra hits play. To her dismay, she looks even better in motion.

Watching Kuvira’s interview is enchanting, even without the sound. The shape of her mouth draws Korra in as she details her childhood in Southeast Asia, her family's move to America when she was seven, and her ascent from the Exchange floor to CEO. Her story has the makings of a superhero origin, or a villain perhaps, depending on who’s asking.

Korra thought seeing Asami’s new girlfriend would make her less fixated on their cumbersome split. Instead, it has the opposite effect. She hits 4x in the settings and watches Kuvira laugh, and glower, and ponder in hyperspeed, until she makes up her mind. 

“That’s it! I’m just going to go see her,” Korra announces definitively. 

Bolin almost chokes on his popcorn. “What?!”

* * *

Seven beds, nine baths, and four floors are more than enough for one woman. Asami’s townhome in Greenwich Village is palatial, both in size and design. If there is ever a question of how many crystal chandeliers fit in a Manhattan abode, the answer can be found between the walls of the Sato mansion.

The sheer size of the building made it easy for Kuvira to go about her tasks in the kitchen without Asami hearing her. It’s not until she walks in from the long hall that she realizes Kuvira has beat her home. First she’s startled, then bemused, then secretly giddy. A surprise visit is never disappointing.

“Make yourself at home I guess.”

“Thank you,” Kuvira replies, almost as if she didn’t notice or care about the sarcasm in Asami’s voice. “I’m making shrimp risotto, and there’s a pinot blanc chilling.”

During the day, Kuvira is coarse, dry, almost bitter in how she addresses people. But there’s a softer part of her that reveals itself behind closed doors. She is kind in the most rigid sense of the word. There’s a carefulness to her movement and speech that belies her guarded demeanor. Asami finds the change fascinating. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company? Big deal? New investor?”

Kuvira smiles at the bundle of cilantro she’s chopping. The minced leaves stick to her hands as she piles them into the corner of the cutting board before grabbing a clove of garlic. “I wasn’t aware I needed a reason to cook for you.”

 _Interesting_. They hadn’t put a label on their relationship, mostly to avoid more rumors, and Asami hadn’t realized they were at the stage of spontaneous date nights at home. Sharing door codes was a matter of keeping things discrete, cooking was a new level of intimacy.

Asami decides the garlic can wait. She meets Kuvira on the other side of the island and pulls her away from the counter into a playful kiss. The sturdy arm wrapping around her back feels like being buckled into a rollercoaster. Her stomach flutters with anticipation for the ride to come. Dinner will be a slow, painstaking creep to the top of the tracks, but the drop is always worth it.

“Mmmm,” Asami hums against Kuvira’s lips. There’s been some sampling of the ingredients because she tastes like lemon and spices. “What’s for desert, Ms. Beifong?”

“I haven’t decided yet.” Kuvira’s hold tightens so their hips rub together. “Tell me...what would you like?”

* * *

Plates. Saucers. Silverware. A glass or two. The floor is littered with broken dishes and spilled wine. Safely above it all, atop the dining room table, Kuvira is stretched on top of Asami, one hand holding the leg that’s loosely wrapped around her back, the other gently clasped around Asami’s neck. She watches her pupils widen inside deep green irises, lust stricken, starving for touch. Her lips are swollen and glistening from a barrage of heady kisses.

Kuvira brings her lips tauntingly close, her breath dancing across Asami’s face. “Be specific...” she insists.

Asami swallows, drunk, barely lucid. Kuvira’s weight is like being tied down, constraining and satisfying. Asami can feel her all over, but it’s not enough. Not with the clothes in the way and the idle hands. It’s not nearly enough. So she asks—politely, specific. 

“Take this off?” Quickly, her shirt gets unbuttoned.

“These next...” Her pants are added to the mess on the floor.

“This too?” Now Kuvira steps out of her skirt. Without being asked, she unbuttons her blouse, offering a partial view of her chest, and cleavage, and stomach. Every inch of skin looks silken and lush, almost edible, and certainly worthy of devouring. 

“Wait...not those.” Asami stops Kuvira from removing her underwear. She snags the lacy waistband with her index so her knuckle rests against the groove of Kuvira’s abs. A quick tug brings her closer, now she’s that much easier to touch. Asami contemplates where to start, forcing herself to go slow. She kisses Kuvira’s collarbone, then her chest, the supple curve of one breast, then the other. Red lipstick mars the statuesque appearance of Kuvira’s body, but it’s hard to see once she flushes, heat emanating from her core. 

Asami slides off the table and falls to her knees, continuing her work past Kuvira’s navel, down to the gap between her thighs. Kisses become licks. Licks become bites. Her teeth drag across the delicate fabric before her with enough force to make Kuvira hiss. 

“Don’t start things you cannot finish Ms. Sato.” Kuvira swipes at the smudged lipstick with her thumb before pushing it between Asami’s lips; in turn, Asami takes it fully in her mouth with such fervor that the sensation echoes between Kuvira’s legs as a maddening throb. Asami keeps her eyes trained upward, she knows what effect her complaisant gaze can have. 

Kuvira leaves her thumb against Asami’s slick tongue, and sheds her panties. Her free hand cards through loose raven locks in search of a tight enough hold. She steps closer, legs already unsteady, opens Asami’s mouth, and offers herself—dripping, sensitive, demanding. 

She replaces her thumb with her clit, and the moment she’s sucked up by Asami’s warm eager maw, she has to bite back a moan, lest she reveal how good it is. Kuvira’s grip keeps Asami in place as she rocks into her face, drawing out every lave at a sedated pace. She drinks in all the subtle gestures of submission—Asami’s heavy swallows, the quiver of her bottom lip, her muffled moans.

Finely manicured nails claw into the back of Kuvira’s thighs, a delightful pain. She thrusts harder, faster, more reckless. Asami’s eyes water before she slams them shut, gulping for breath while Kuvira grinds. 

“Fuck, that’s good,” she murmurs between pants. “R—right there.”

Kuvira loses her ability to balance, so she reaches out to steady herself against the table. The tightening starts in her core and radiates through her entire body. Asami runs her hand up Kuvira’s trembling abs until she finds a taut brown nipple. She delicately twists it between her fingers, sending Kuvira into a full spiral. 

“Mmmm—shit, I’m coming.” She ascends to a rocky peak, toes curled into the hardwood, lightly sweating, and altogether incoherent as cum spilled down Asami’s chin. Pleasurable screams fill the air as she succumbs to the tongue gliding through her slit and flicking at her entrance. 

The grinding gradually fades. Kuvira releases the fistful of hair she has captive, but Asami continues working her tongue between the soaked folds, reveling in the involuntary tremors that follow every stroke. 

Eventually, she pulls back to take in Kuvira’s languid stance. “It should be illegal to look that good when you come.”

She stands and wraps her arms around the exhausted woman. The night is young, and there’s certainly time for more fun, but for now they’re satisfied. Asami steals a lazy kiss; Kuvira hums at the taste of her own sex flooding her mouth. A clouded mind delays her next thought a second too long. 

The doorbell shrills through the house, disturbing the postcoital bliss. Asami exhales a deep gusty sigh followed by an eye roll that, if seen, would have inspired the unannounced visitor to rethink their presence.

She hastily redresses and tries to make her hair presentable. _God help whoever has the gall to interrupt dessert._ Kuvira stays behind to clean up their mess.

It’s not clear why Asami doesn’t check the doorbell camera, maybe it was the lingering sex high, but she regrets it as soon as she opens the door.

“Korra?!”

 _Stick to the script,_ Korra tells herself. It’s easy to recognize what Asami’s been up to, but it doesn’t register right away. Her hands open and close anxiously, and if she waited a second longer she would have panicked and retreated to the nearest subway station. Instead, Korra let her words avalanche onto the stoop. “Look, I know I was the one who said we should break up, but I was honestly just saying what I thought _you_ were thinking. You stopped staying over, and seemed so distant, and I just thought...well I thought you wanted to end things.”

Passing traffic and distracted pedestrians create ambient noise behind Korra’s monologue. It’s all Asami can do to stand there listening, mouth agape, eyes wide with shock.

“I can’t help but think it was the wrong decision. Maybe I jumped to conclusions, because I can’t get you out of my head. No matter what I do, or where I go, you’re right there in the front of my mind. I still love you, Asami. That means something...right?”

A million responses sat at the tip of Asami’s tongue. Some were kind, others not so much, but all of them vanish once Korra’s face sinks into a solemn scowl, seemingly in reaction to something behind Asami’s head.

“That was one hell of a speech,” Kuvira suggests wryly. She joins the two women in the doorway, shirt partially unbuttoned, skin still gleaming. Her approach ends just behind Asami, close enough to press against the curve of her ass. She extends her hand past the CEO, offering it to her new acquaintance, “I’m Kuvira Beifong by the way. Nice to finally meet you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did this idea come from a [thirst tweet](https://twitter.com/KorrasB/status/1325675350135877632?s=20) or [two](https://twitter.com/KorrasB/status/1325672132358049797?s=20)? yeth. there's two more chapters in my brain, we'll see if they make it on the page.


	2. creep (a coochie debacle)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kuvira is quite intrigued, Korra makes another dumb decision, and Mako is horn knee.

There’s an awkward pause as Mako stares at Korra. He’s not too sure what to say. Who would be in this situation? All of it made zero sense.

He scratches at his bushy eyebrow like he always does when he’s nervous. He has to say something or they’ll just be frozen in place, maybe forever, replaying Korra’s embarrassing story in their heads.

“Did you uh...shake her hand?”

Mako’s asinine question is enough to free Korra from her prison of shame. She’s reanimated by the stupidity. “What? No! Why the hell would I shake her hand, Mako?”

“I don’t know, it seems like the polite thing to do.”

“My  _ barely ex- _ girlfriend answered the door with sex hair, I confessed my love for her, and the chick she’s fucking said my speech was ‘nice.’ The only polite response would have been disintegrating like Peter Parker in Infinity War.”

Mako winces at the painful recounting. It’s probably the cringiest story he’s ever heard, which is saying a lot with Bolin as his brother. One time, Bolin met this girl with dark eyeliner, a leather choker, and a blunt cut bang at a frat party. He spent the whole night thinking he was seducing her, but really she was just letting him talk as a form of amusement. Mako got a call at 3AM from Bolin, hysterically claiming he had  _ accidentally  _ slept with the girl’s twin brother. No one’s figured out how he missed the guy’s dick, but eventually Bo got over his initial shock and came out as bisexual.  _ Good for him,  _ Mako thought _. _

“Are you thinking about Bolin fucking Eska?”

“It’s hard not to, Korra. This might take its place in the Krew Hall of Shame.”

Korra’s face becomes a mangled grimace, as if she’s going to vomit, or shit, or both. “Is this that bad?”

Mako clasps down on her shoulder and gives it a firm pinch. “Yes. Yes it is.”

* * *

It’s become evident that Asami’s place is not private. Between Korra’s surprise visit and the occasional paparazzo, the illusion of discretion has disappeared. Kuvira’s building has an underground garage that offers better protection from foolhardy ex-girlfriends and tabloid slackies. So long as they leave out the garage at different times, their affair is well disguised. 

Luckily, leaving separately doesn’t preclude getting ready at the same time. Kuvira rouses around 5AM every morning, without an alarm or so much as a ray of sunlight. She grinds her pick of Colombian coffee beans and lets the sound of percolation wake her mind. Routine is more important than the caffeine itself. Orderliness is what makes her tick.

By 6AM she’s already closed on a deal and watching the news from her usual seat on the couch. She leaves the sound off, preferring to read the closed captioning, and enjoys a second cup of coffee. Every morning, seven days a week, unfolds in this precise order.

Asami is lazier. She clings to the Egyptian cotton sheets, rolling around the expanse of Kuvira’s bed, inhaling her scent as it pulps from the threads. The quiet mornings are intoxicating, but she notices Kuvira’s indifference to her presence. Asami is not used to being someone’s afterthought. Mako, Korra, and a dozen other suitors worshipped the ground she walked on, but she got no such response out of Kuvira.

The synchronized shower heads make a rainfall song of their own around 6:45. They’re set to a timer so the water is perfectly hot when Kuvira steps into the glass encasement. The tiling is an iridescent stone that resembles an oil slick. Without looking close one might expect Kuvira to sink into liquid blackness when she enters her master bath, which opens into her bedroom without walls or barriers, the change in flooring being the only thing that separates the rooms.

Steam envelopes Kuvira’s form as she meanders in from the living room. Asami can hear the heavy door swing open, but she pretends to be asleep while the other woman disrobes and slips into the shower. The music of the water is interrupted by the splashing against her skin, water running off her body like waterfalls.

Kuvira closes her eyes and let’s the heat sweep over her. Even this moment of stillness is part of her routine, so she doesn’t expect to hear someone behind her, feel hands on her waist, or breast against her back. “Good morning,” she says with a raspy, barely used voice.

Asami answers by swiping her nose across Kuvira’s shoulder, up the angle of her neck, behind her ear. She tilts her head to bite at Kuvira’s earlobe playfully, tugging gently, demanding her attention _ —look at me, need me, want me the way I want you.  _

Their fingers interlock at Kuvira’s waist, and the taller woman works Asami’s hands down over the flesh of her thighs, following the seam where they meet her pelvis. The guided caress is frictionless and wet, already overwhelming for this time of the morning.

There’s barely any difference between Asami’s breath on Kuvira’s neck and the sticky air surrounding them. Each exhale is longer than the last, drawn out by the privilege of touching Kuvira where so few are allowed. Asami tries to go further than Kuvira’s grip permits and is met with a reprimanding husk, “You lack patience.”

“Can you blame me?”

“No. I can, however, teach you to behave.” Kuvira releases and turns on her heels in one swift move. She doesn’t afford Asami time to react before backing her into the glass wall. There’s a pleasant view of their current positioning in the vanity mirror just outside the shower. It’s impossible for Kuvira not to look at herself as she cuffs Asami’s hands between her long fingers, and pins them against the glass above their heads.

There’s something desperate in Asami’s eyes when Kuvira looks into them. All the effort Asami saves for feigning indifference towards others, and acting as if she’s owed their affection, has melted away. She wants nothing more than to earn Kuvira’s praise, and desire, and attention.

So, she earns it with her compliance—parting her legs for lissome digits, crying a name when they enter, pleading when they withdraw. Her legs tremble from the teasing pace, circles drawn at her entrance, the undoing of her strength until she’s open. Kuvira licks across the bruised bottom lip Asami’s been biting. “Would you like to come?”

Asami nods. Quick, frantic nods are all she can manage.  _ Yes, Kuvira, please fuck me _ , is what she means to say, but her throat is strangled by need.

Kuvira accepts the nodding and fucks her, and wonders as she does; the twitch of Asami’s brow, the crescendo of her screams, the tension in her abs as she peaks, it all makes it hard to believe she’s ever done this before. Kuvira can tell that she’s been the only one to disarm Asami Sato, to reduce her to nothing but unintelligible moans. It makes Kuvira think of the last person that tried pleasing her, the person that’s still trying to break into Asami’s most licentious depths. 

Puddles of cum leak down Kuvira’s palm. She strokes against clenching walls until the only thing keeping Asami grounded are her entrapped wrists. As she spills over into an exultant trance, Kuvira peers past her into the foggy bathroom mirror, and she imagines how Korra might look in that very same position. 

* * *

Korra has been tapping on her legal pad for the better part of an hour. As far as she can tell no time has passed, but she’s the only person left in her department at 8PM. Quiet music plays from her computer, something Spotify has chosen after  _ A Seat at the Table _ ended. It doesn’t matter what’s on, she’s not listening anyway.

Mako hadn’t offered any useful comfort. Bolin was just comic relief. Korra found herself on her own with this particular dilemma, and the creepy echo in her office made her feel exceptionally alone. Thoughts whirled around her head with a maddening speed, and she was driven to make her dumbest decision thus far.

After punching in a four-digit extension on her phone, ringing sounds from the speaker.  _ Please pick up, please pick up. _

“PR, what’s up?”

“Oh hey,” she didn’t think that prayer would work. “I was just wondering if anyone up there had a number for Kuvira Beifong?”

“Who?” asks the woman on the other side of the line. They work for a basketball team, not a news station. 

“The chick from that 60 Minutes special. Wall Street business person—”

"Smthhhh," the other woman sucks her teeth as she places the name and realizes this is a personal request. It’s after hours, everyone’s gone home, and the only thing keeping her in the office is Korra’s dumb call. “Hold on.”

A short eternity passes while Korra listens to the worst type of jazz music. She decides that Kenny G won’t see heaven for his sins against the genre. 

“The only contact we’ve got up here is a secretary. You want that?”

“Y-yeah. I’ll take that, thank you.”

Korra scribbles the number on her desk calendar and dials as soon as PR hangs up. There’s dead silence before it connects, and somewhere around the fourth ring she contemplates slamming the phone back on the receiver. 

“Beifong Incorporated, Ms. Beifong’s office, how can I direct your call?”

* * *

The only security guard still in the building is the second shift guy, who looks like he doesn’t use deodorant but does use the term ‘jugs’ when he talks about breasts. Korra tries to ignore his manish gaze as she scans the street for passing cars. If she checks her watch one more time her wrist is liable to twist off. 

A black Sprinter turns the corner and her nerves light on fire. She becomes inflamed with anxiety, flush red, jittery, and very close to vomiting. 

The van stops just outside the building so she knows it’s the right vehicle.  _ Here goes nothing, _ she tells herself.  She makes her way out to the street and sees the side door slide open, revealing two long crossed legs. 

Korra approaches cautiously, poking her head inside first. Kuvira douces any anxious tension with her sedating tone, “I’m glad you called.”

The corner of Korra’s mouth twitches, almost giving way to a smile. She steps inside the van and takes a seat across from Kuvira, their feet almost touching in the middle. Amber LED lights make for a drowsy ambiance and the seats are much more plush than expected. There’s a TV screen built into the wall, a minibar, and thick curtains over the windows. Korra always thought Sprinters looked like new-age ice cream trucks, so the luxury trimmings come as a surprise. 

Kuvira sends a few texts before switching her phone to ‘do not disturb.’ She presses a button on her armrest and the partition rolls up slowly, offering privacy from the driver. Korra isn’t sure if she should be aroused or scared, but she’s a bit of both.

“What makes you glad I called?”

“I wanted to apologize for interrupting your conversation with Ms. Sato a few days ago, but I didn’t know how to reach you. Now, I know you’re working in the Net’s front office, correct?”

Korra swallows hard. There’s something intimidating about Kuvira knowing where she works, which is dumb because she called from her  _ work  _ phone. What did she expect? 

“Yeah. I started as an intern after college. I work in Team Relations now.”

“Do you enjoy the work?” Kuvira inquires, her voice smooth and unaffected.

Is she sizing Korra up? Checking out the competition? Or is she genuinely interested? It’s impossible to tell what’s happening behind her evergreen eyes. Korra thinks she can sense a level of intrigue that surpasses common courtesy, but she quickly convinces herself she’s wrong, that she’s utterly unintriguing. Kuvira is wearing last fall’s pleated Givenchy jumpsuit, and it envelopes her body like a toga draped over a goddess. Surely, she isn’t interested in Korra.

“It’s work. Pays the bills and keeps me close to the game. That’s good enough for me.”

Kuvira smirks under a wry breath. “Good enough?” she reaches for a glass in the small fridge that’s built into the armrest. “What a banal concept.” 

After pouring herself two fingers of single malt whiskey, she offers Korra the same. Turning it down after rejecting her handshake days before seems like adding insult to injury, so Korra accepts, and probably sips a little too fast. 

She’s mildly aware that they’re moving, driving to some unknown destination. The last swallow of whiskey swirls in her glass as they bank corners, and Kuvira fills the air with casual conversation. There’s never a moment that she’s not in control.

“Can I sit next to you?” Kuvira asks.

Korra glances at the seat next to her. There’s no fridge on her side, and all that distinguishes each seat in the row are the headrests and seat belts.  _ That's too close _ , is her first panicked thought.  _ Fuck it _ , is her second.

“It’s your ride, you can sit wherever.”

Kuvira appreciates the blunt response. She takes the seat next to Korra and turns her head so they’re face-to-face with less than a foot between them. It dawns on Korra that Kuvira hasn’t spoken about Asami the entire time, and she likely has no intention of doing so. Kuvira agreed to meet for selfish reasons.

Curiosity takes over. A question tentatively falls from Korra’s lips. “Do you love her?” 

A flash of surprise dances across Kuvira’s face before she can tuck it away. It’s quickly followed by a smug grin. “Love is not the only reason to be with someone. In fact, it complicates things. I find that Ms. Sato and I aren’t good at it.”

“Well...what are you good at?”

Kuvira reaches down and takes Korra’s glass. Their fingers graze each other, causing Korra’s lungs to wring. When Kuvira turns back around after placing the glass in a cup holder, there’s a dark, spellbinding glow in her eyes, and she knows it.

“I would much rather show than tell, if that’s alright with you.”

Korra nods. Quick, frantic nods are all she can manage. Everything she planned to say, ask about, or otherwise investigate, disappears from her mind. Korra breaks from reality and lets whatever magic she’s under whisk her away.

Smiling, Kuvira leans into a modest kiss. Warm, quick, soliciting. Korra unconsciously drifts towards the CEO when it’s over, wishing for another that’s longer and hotter. 

Her wish is granted. Kuvira takes Korra’s lips with a waning constraint, licking into her mouth, nipping as wants, testing how fast she can go. She unbuttons Korra’s pants without looking or pausing. A single motion rips open Korra’s shirt. Kuvira grabs under a thigh and pulls her on top to straddle. She enjoys looking up at Korra's dismayed expression.

Brutish groping, wild scratching, arduous panting. Kuvira is reminded of her days as a bull, fighting for her footing, mauling men who stood in her way. Korra is her first ravenous meal in years. Kuvira scrapes her teeth down the center of Korra’s chest until she faintly cries for more. 

She draws soft patches of skin into her mouth—firm but careful—sucking until they’re red and tender, decorating Korra’s neck, and clavicle, and stomach in beautiful bruises. Every new mark makes Korra yearn to be fucked. All the moisture in her body is dripping into her panties as she grinds down on Kuvira’s lap.

When the CEO is satisfied with her teasing, she yanks down the slacks that are inconveniently delaying her, and moves the damp panties to the side, impatient and determined. Her middle finger prods at Korra’s entrance, splashing in the juices with a sopping pop. The music of it inebriates her mind, she almost loses track of what she intends to do.

Korra grabs onto Kuvira’s tight bicep, steadying herself as she sinks lower, searching for the penetration she’s being denied. “Hnnnnn—fuck you’re cruel.”

Yes. Kuvira is purposefully slow, feathery, and elusive with her touch. Haste ruins the fun. “Thank you,” she retorts slyly, dipping her finger inside for just a moment. Korra slides down more, spread open, pleading. Kuvira enters again, still too shallow and too quick to leave. She does it again, and again, and again, offering only enough for Korra to know she wants nothing more than Kuvira's touch.

Korra drops down so their foreheads are pressed together. One hand is holding onto the headrest, and the other clasps Kuvira’s wrist. “If you don’t...I will.”

It’s a tantalizing threat, and Kuvira considers it for a moment before giving in. Two wet fingers slide into Korra’s pussy, deep and deliberate, drawn in by clenching walls. The heel of her palm rubs against an aching clit before she pulls out. Korra releases a shaky breath, then gasps as she feels Kuvira inside her once more. 

The skin of Korra’s knuckles blanch as she tightens her grip on the headrest. Curses stream together in an attempt to respond to the wrenching sensation rolling through her core. The buck of her hips matches Kuvira’s pistoning until they’re slamming together, and she’s taking Kuvira as deep as possible, hard and rough. 

“Fuck…me.”

“Of course.” Kuvira snatches a fistful of Korra’s hair and pulls her head back. While she buries her fingers inside, she works her tongue over the pulsing vein in Korra’s neck. It’s a cool, slick sensation, and it forces Korra over edge. Her abs seize and her grinding becomes ragged and uncontrolled. Her mouth dries out from the breathy screams as she comes in Kuvira’s hand.

Moments after she drifts back down, Kuvira sucks the mess from her own fingers.  “I think we’ve arrived at your home.” 

* * *

Asami jogs downstairs when she hears the doorbell. She’s learned her lesson, and checks the camera before opening the door. She’s pleasantly surprised to see a grainy video of Kuvira on her stoop.

“Two surprise visits in one week? I’m a lucky woman.” 

Kuvira steps inside casually, careful not to hug Asami until they’re safe behind closed doors. She nuzzles her neck and inhales her perfume. “I love this fragrance,” she murmurs into the warm skin. Asami almost melts into a puddle from the soft embrace.

In no time they find themselves cuddled on the couch, flipping between the evening news and reruns of Will & Grace. Occasionally, Asami tilts her head up from its resting place on Kuvira’s shoulder, and steals a random kiss. Somewhere between her third and fourth time, she notices the faintest scent of musk on Kuvira’s lips, and a tang on her tongue. It took a fifth kiss to figure it out.

Asami sits up and looks Kuvira square in her eyes. “Really?!” 

“You’ll have to be more specific.”

She shoves Kuvira enough to detangle their limbs and climb off the couch. The pacing begins immediately. “I can’t believe you would come to my house after fucking someone else. You could have at least stopped for fucking mouthwash.”

The last bit makes Kuvira chuckle, which in turn sets Asami off. “What’s funny?!”

“Your poor acting.” Kuvira stands and makes her way to the coat rack. She knows how this will end before she even begins. “Eduardo, the Brazilian model. Mina, the Greek heiress. Dani, the chef from the non-for-profit. And oh, I’d be remiss if I left out Iroh, that unsuspecting beauty that did your tax audit last month.”

By this point Asami’s face is pallid, but Kuvira doesn’t look back to notice, she just tosses on her wool trench coat and ties the belt comfortably around her waist. 

“I’m neither dumb nor naive, Ms. Sato. We all have our...transgressions. Until now, I thought we  _ both _ understood that.”

No less than fourteen emotions cycled acrossed Asami’s face, ranging from shock to embarrassment. However, her main concern was that Kuvira knew the details of her affairs despite every effort to be discrete. She had no moral high ground to claim, but the callout was shameful all the same.

And like anyone who’s backed into a corner, Asami responded with a few jabs of her own. Well...she tried.

“I have my fun, but you knew that when this started six months ago. I never pretended to be something I’m not.”

Kuvira straightens the sleeves of her coat and rests her hands in the pockets. “Neither did I. Not once did I insinuate that you belonged to me, or that I belonged to you. I’ve spent the better half of my life convincing childish men that I cannot be possessed. I had hoped that wouldn’t be necessary with you.”

It was true, they hadn’t discussed being exclusive. They hadn’t even bothered to name their relationship at all. Asami suddenly felt small, like a reprimanded child. She wanted to run away but she was already home.

“I think you should go.”

* * *

A blaring car horn lets Korra know that her friends have arrived. She meets Mako, Bolin, and Iknik on the front steps of her walk up. Every Friday night they get together for Movie-tinis, which entails a cheesy film, martinis, and snacks. Bolin has an armful of chip and popcorn bags, and Mako has a jug of cheap premixed martinis. Classiness is all they know. 

“Korra! How the hell are you?” Iknik sings as he scoops her into a bear hug, her laughter is choked out by his squeezing. When he lets go, he takes a step back and seriously surveys her outfit. She’s wearing the top and bottom to two different sets of Christmas pajamas. It’s the end of October. 

“Mismatch flannel...” Iknik rubs his chin thoughtfully before deciding what he thinks. “Brave. Bold. I love it!”

“Korra does have good taste,” Bolin adds. Somehow their combined approval makes it even more clear how awful Korra looks.

“Thanks, Varrick,” she pans with a straight face.

“No problem! You three enjoy the movers, I’ve got a night class to get to.” He turns and kisses Bolin before pinching his ass on his way down the steps. 

* * *

The cheap drinks are strong. The Mummy is still sexy for no good reason. The laughs are deep, and much needed after a chaotic week.

Mako is so far on the edge of the couch that a strong breeze could knock him over. He gets like this when pretty men point knives at each other. “Serious question: Brendan Fraser or Oded Fehr?”

“In a fight or in bed?” Bolin asks.

Mako scowls at him before giving the clarification some genuine thought. “Actually...both.”

“Oded,” Korra answers nonchalantly. This has always been and will always be her truth. “Eyeliner, long hair, accent. It does it for me.”

“I don’t know. O’Connell’s pretty hunky,” Bolin adds. 

Before Mako can make his ruling, his phone starts to ring.  _ She wanna fuck with the Wooooooo  _ plays from his pocket before he can silence it. He jumps up and rushes into the corner of the living room to take the call.

While he mumbles quietly to hide his conversation, Korra and Bolin exchange giddy looks, quietly devising a plan. By the time Mako returns, they’re ready to pounce. Bolin grabs his arms and Korra gets the phone. Good thing they’ve been sharing passwords since 12th grade.

“Wu, huh?”

Mako shudders and blushes. He’s got some explaining to do.

“We uh—we met at work.”

Bolin knits his brow, there’s no one in the Net’s entire organization named Wu. He looks at Korra and her face confirms as much. Both of their eyes return to a nervous Mako.

“Fine! It’s Wu Barclay, as in the Barclays Center.”

There was a shared gasp between Korra and Bolin. Mako is not a bad looking guy, and certainly makes good money, but he's not  _ that _ good looking, or  _ that _ well off. 

“Oh this has got to be a good story.” Korra folds her arm and laughs, exasperated at the mere prospect of her best friend dating the heir to a banking empire. 

“It is a good story, and I promise I’ll tell you guys another time, but right now Wu wants to meet up and—”

“It’s Movie-tini night,” Bolin protests.

“More importantly, it’s midnight,” Korra points out, noticing the redness intensifying on Mako’s face. “This is a booty call, isn’t it?”

He looks back and forth between his brother and friend, praying that a better explanation pops in his head, but it never does. He resorts to brutal honesty. 

“So what if it is! I miss cock.” Mako throws his arms up and lets them fall against his sides. “Women are too complicated. I just want some good, no-strings-attached dick. Is that too much to ask?”

Korra laughs despite having a genuine understanding of her friend’s gripe. “No...not at all, Mako. Go suck some billionaire dick. Make us proud.” She patted him on the shoulder with playful and earnest intent. If only he knew what she’d done in a wealthy woman’s Sprinter only hours before, he'd make Korra eat her words. 

Bolin offers some helpful advice about rimming, which Mako quickly shuts down to keep from picturing images of him with Iknik. Then they both got their things and took an Uber home (where Mako promptly packs an overnight bag and hops in a black car).

Korra does her best to clean up her apartment so she doesn’t have to wake up to a hangover and a mess. She drags her kitchen garbage can into the living room and starts tossing things away. Just before she cuts the lights and heads to bed, her phone buzzes twice, the coveted double text. She unlocks it and thumbs to her messages.

**Asami** **💔🖕🏽** (1:22AM) **:** Hey

**Asami** **💔🖕🏽** (1:22AM) **:** You up?

**Korra:** _ is typing... _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is cathartic. Thanks for coming back 😉
> 
> (chap 3 will be the last)


	3. no strings attached

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After hooking up, Asami and Korra have to sort a few things out.

Asami 💔🖕🏽 (1:22AM): Hey

Asami 💔🖕🏽 (1:22AM): You up?

Korra (1:23AM): Yeah...

Asami 💔🖕🏽 (1:22AM): Busy?

There are two distinct choices for Korra. She can tell Asami to fuck off, or admit that she just wrapped her evening plans, and her apartment is frustratingly empty. Instead of letting the options jostle around in her mind too long, Korra types what comes to her naturally—horniness. 

Korra (1:25AM): Very unbusy. Mako and Bolin just left...could use some company 👀

Asami 💔🖕🏽 (1:26AM): Be there in 15. Don’t fall asleep.

* * *

The next morning, fighting the sunlight is futile, but Korra buries her head under her pillow to steal a few more winks of sleep. She’s vaguely aware of Asami getting dressed, slipping back into her sweats, shoving her lacey boy shorts in her purse, and stepping into her Fenty slides. It’s best if they don’t do the awkward _ morning after  _ song and dance where they pretend to emote. Especially because Korra is, in fact, emotional. 

She’s equal parts satisfied, terrified, and disappointed. As she hides under her pillow, all she can think of is Kuvira, and that’s not ideal with her ex shuffling through her bedroom. 

Asami didn’t bother to say goodbye. She creeps out the front door hoping she hasn’t woken Korra, the neighbors, or the petulant cat. Korra knows she’s finally gone when Naga jumps into the bed and fills the empty space that Asami left behind. Finally, Korra peeks out from her downy cave with one eye open, and finds an empty room. 

“I'm terrible, aren’t I?” she asks her sleepy feline. Naga yawns dismissively and pads the comforter under her paws before going back to sleep. “You’re right, Naga. I’m an adult, I’m single, and I can fuck whoever I want.”

* * *

“You can’t just go around fucking whoever you want,” Mako yells.

Him, Korra, and Bolin are smoking a joint at the delivery port behind the building. Mako waves it around pinched between his fingers, explaining all the reasons why Korra shouldn’t have called Kuvira in the first place.

Bolin reaches out to politely take the joint so the rotation can continue, but Mako pivots away, continuing his patronizing rant. Korra has to stand from her seat on the steps and grab Mako’s shoulders to get him to shut up. 

“You took a booty call from the guy that _ owns  _ the arena, so you’re in no position to judge. Shut up and pass the weed!” Her expression doesn’t leave much room for compromise, and she has a valid point—Mako isn’t exactly innocent. He hands the joint to Bolin and steals Korra’s seat.

“What the hell are any of us doing? I mean really...we’re in our thirties, unmarried, working 50 hour weeks, hooking up with near strangers—”

“Uh, that really doesn’t sound so bad, bro,” Bolin interjects before inhaling and holding the smoke in his lungs. He releases with a giddy grin and passes to Korra. “There are worse ways to live.”

Mako shakes his head. For the life of him he cannot figure out why they include Bolin in these discussions. Plus, his participation is worsened whenever Korra agrees with him. She only does it because it’s easier to go along with Bolin’s ill-formed hot takes than think critically about her tangled love life, but Bolin doesn’t know that. He feels endlessly validated while Korra is just trying not to reminisce. What good would it do to mentally revisit the weight of Kuvira’s hand on her back, or the breadth of her fingers working deeper inside, or the smell of aged whiskey on her lips? It wouldn’t do any good at all, so she nods in agreement with whatever asinine advice Bolin is peddling at the moment.

Eventually, Mako can’t take it anymore. “Bolin,” he takes a long drag before continuing. “Just say Varrick is keeping you happy, and go. Us single gays aren’t interested in your romantic anecdotes.” 

Something similar to offense takes over Bolin’s face, but his high prevents him from dwelling on Mako’s crass words too long. “I’ll have you know, Iknik takes _ very good  _ care of me. Maybe you two could learn a few things from us.”

His subtly condescending tone doesn’t go unnoticed. Korra takes the joint, and locks eyes with Mako. Then, they both yell,  _ “shut up, Bolin!” _

* * *

Asami’s impulsive night at Korra’s place is lingering like a bad hangover. Her head is throbbing with regret and uncertainty. Kuvira was clearly seeing other people, and fucking other people, so it’s unclear why Asami feels the least bit bad about her night with Korra. If anything, hooking up with an ex is slightly _ better  _ than doing the tax guy, though, Asami has significantly fewer regrets about that romp. 

Her office is enormous, but it feels like the walls are closing in. Her conscience is a useless buzz in her ear, pestering her about the two women she desires to have without the faintest thought of loving them. Was it too much to ask for something simple, sexy, and uncomplicated? Or, was she the one complicating things? A week prior, Asami was only worried about paparazzi and falling stock values. Now, her sex life is her biggest headache.

The phone rings and breaks her line of thought. She glances at the number and recognizes the first few digits belonging to the Nets office. There are only three people in that entire building with a reason to call her, and her money is on Korra, who is likely nervously dialing from her glorified cubicle. __

_ Don’t let her hear you sweat!  _

“Sato speaking,” Asami answers casually, her voice smooth and confident. Korra held her breath for a moment, she was not expecting the ice of Asami’s words to rattle her so quickly. When the quietness got weird, Asami probed for signs of life. _ “Hello?” _

“Uh, hi. It’s—this is Korra. I’m Korra.” She immediately shoves her fist in her mouth.

“I know, the number comes up. Is there something you need?”

Another pregnant pause precedes Korra’s next bit of stammering. “I’ll keep it short since I’m sure you’re busy, but I just needed to say sorry. I shouldn’t...we...the other night shouldn’t have happened.” Korra works up a bit of conviction mid-call, and opts for full disclosure. “We shouldn’t have done that after I slept with Kuvira. That was crossing a line.”

The dead silence that ensues is not awkward or natural, it belies Asami’s stifling rage. _ It was Korra,  _ she thinks while remembering the taste of her on Kuvira’s lips, and the lingering scent of her on Kuvira’s hands. All the anger that manifested the last time she saw Kuvira, returned anew, stronger than before.

Korra mistakes the lack of response as a victory and grins into the receiver. “If you’re not ready to talk about this, I understand.”

“No,” Asami finally replies. “I just think it’s better to talk it over at my place. Face to face.”

Meeting in person wasn’t ideal for Korra, she always felt out of place at Asami’s house, and a bit uncouth in her presence, but she agrees anyway. Asami gathers her wits and throws out a time and day for them to meet. It’s the longest thirty seconds of her life as they exchange a few  _ yeahs  _ and  _ alrights  _ to end the call. 

Once the phone is hung up, Asami drops into her oversized office chair and calls out to Siri. While she’s digging around a desk drawer for her handy bottle of vodka, the virtual assistant asks for a command.

“Call Kuvira Beifong on speakerphone.”

* * *

Now that Korra is on Asami’s front steps, she feels odd being empty handed. While she’s waiting for Asami to come to the door, she wonders if there’s a customary gift one should bring to a post-make-up-sex talk—maybe wine, or a card?

Nothing comes to mind before Asami appears in the window. She peeks through the stained glass at Korra’s loveable lopsided smile. It reminds her of their first date, Korra showing up a nervous wreck, and them getting lost in the mountains outside the city looking for some tucked away restaurant. 

“Thanks for coming.” Asami flashes a genuine smile before stepping back to let Korra inside. 

The halls haven’t changed, the hardwood is still perfectly finished, the art is all evenly hung. Korra quickly remembers the feeling of being in a museum where everything is too expensive to touch, and nothing feels comfortable. She heads to the living room, just off the kitchen, and hovers near the couch. Asami notices the way Korra is clinging to her coat and offers to hang it. 

Letting go is like relinquishing a baby blanket, suddenly Korra has nothing to do with her hands, so she resorts to tapping at the side of her legs. “Where uh...where did you want me?”

Asami spikes a brow at the wording, noting the apprehension underneath. “Wherever you’d like, make yourself at home.”

Korra sits at the far end of the couch, far enough away to focus on their conversation instead of the plunging neckline of Asami’s dress.  _ Why the fuck is she dressed like this,  _ Korra wonders. She trains her eyes to the coffee table—a safe target—and attempts a bit of small talk. Her throat is dry, her tone is flat, her mind is disorganized, and Asami doesn’t bother to listen very closely. She didn’t invite Korra over to discuss the weather and career goals.

“Now I wake up thirty minutes earlier to beat the traffic.” Korra shrugs as she finishes her detailed recounting of her missed morning meeting. She tracks Asami’s movements out the corner of her eye, nervously watching as she walks over.

“Do you mind if I sit next to you?” 

The last time someone asked Korra that she wound up riding them like a rollercoaster. They lock eyes for a fraction of a second, and it becomes clear that the same outcome was possible at this very moment. “It’s your house, you can sit wherever.”

Asami sits close enough for their thighs to brush together. She crowds Korra’s space, inching closer as Korra leans back. “Tell me something...how was it?”

Korra abruptly clears her throat, caught off guard by the question that she’s sure couldn’t possibly have anything to do with Kuvira. “How was  _ what?”  _ A strategically placed hand on her knee makes it hard to focus.

“How was it fucking my girlfriend?” Asami’s question echoes in a low, menacing register that undoes Korra’s composure. 

“I—We—she didn’t…”

Asami lifts her hand from Korra’s knee and caresses her blushing face. “I’m not mad.” _ She’s lying.  _ “I’m just curious.”  _ She’s jealous.  _ “Was it as good as you thought it would be?”  _ It’s a trap. _

Korra squirms out of their intimate seating arrangement and stands. She shoves her hands in her pockets to keep from fidgeting, takes a deep breath to clear her thoughts of breasts—which were impossible to ignore that close to her face—and steadies her resolve. “I didn’t come here to talk about Kuvira. I came here to apologize and talk about us.”

Asami purses her lips, annoyed and impatient. Her response is cut off before it starts by the sound of her front door closing. There’s a short list of people with a key, only one of which was invited.

Kuvira rounds the corner to the living room and immediately stops in her tracks. All three women adopt wildly different expressions as their circumstances set in. Kuvira rolls her eyes, unamused with the Asami’s games, and shrugs off her coat. She carefully hangs the heavy trench, and folds her sleeves up to her elbows. “I don’t suppose you all were talking about me?”

“Asami, what is this?” Korra asks. Her eyes dart between Kuvira and Asami at a dizzying pace.  _ If I leave now, maybe I can drink enough to forget this ever happened by morning.  _

Asami folds her arms proudly, a smug grin turning the corners of her lips. Kuvira isn’t as flustered as she’d like, but it’s satisfying to see her caught off guard. It’s her first time peeking behind the curtain, past Kuvira’s urbane exterior. “I’m glad you both could come, though, I guess you did _ that  _ already.”

“I think I should go.” Korra’s shock has turned into a full fight-or-flight response, and she’s chosen  _ flight.  _

“So, you’re brazen enough to fuck my girlfriend, but not enough to admit it to my face?”

Korra scoffs, “get over yourself, Asami. It wasn’t about you. It happened on a whim.”

“Oh really? You _ happened  _ upon the most well-known investment CEO of the decade, who _ happens  _ to be dating your ex, and you _ coincidentally  _ slept with her? Do I look dumb to you?” As she yells, Asami steps closer to Korra, and Kuvira disappears from her periphery. 

“No, of course not,” Korra answers with feigned concern. “You  _ look  _ stunning, especially in that runway number.” She cuts her eyes before finishing, “but you _ sound  _ ridiculous.”

While their juvenile bickering continues, Kuvira struts to the kitchen and takes a bottle of Carbonadi from the liquor cabinet. About a third of it is already gone, she takes a generous swig to knock it down a bit more. The black glass clinks against the marble countertop of the kitchen island, and she sighs loudly to punctuate her indifference.

The noise catches Asami’s attention, and she spins around to find Kuvira pouring drinks. “Are you going to say anything?!”

Kuvira keeps her focus on the pouring, but amuses Asami’s inquiry. “I could participate in this childish game you have going.  _ Or,  _ we can enjoy each other’s company like adults.” Kuvira returns to the living room and hands each woman a vodka tonic.

“The fact that you’re taking this so lightly is insulting, Kuvira.” Asami begrudgingly takes the cocktail but refuses to drink. Korra stands with her mouth slightly agape, bemused and wondering _ , what do these two have going on?  _ She accepts her drink and downs half of it with one swallow. The buzz sets in quickly, and she remembers that she hasn’t eaten all day.

Kuvira is standing uncomfortably close, near enough to see the glint in Korra’s eyes as the liquor unhooks a very particular inhibition. Asami hisses about her perceived betrayal, but Kuvira can’t rip her gaze away from Korra’s tenuous look of intrigue. She interrupts the ranting once she grows tired of listening.

“The only thing I’ve gathered from all this, Ms. Sato...” she waves her hand around between them, “is that we’re better off having sex than arguing.” 

Without trying, Kuvira suffocates Asami’s anger. Her mouth opens and closes a few times as she searches for a response, but her brain short circuits. Korra is certain that she’s gotten in over head, chugs her vodka, and accidently slams the glass down harder than intended. 

“Welp! It’s been fun. I’m going to go home and reactivate my Hinge account. Enjoy _ …whatever  _ this is.” Korra goes to get her coat, all she wants to do is crawl in bed, and start the work of repressing this memory. 

Kuvira shrugs dismissively, “what a shame.” With her drink cradled in her exceptionally large hand, she leaves the living room to go upstairs. 

“Where are you going?” Asami inquires, her annoyance reaching its peak.

“To bed.” Kuvira doesn’t say another word as she disappears into the stairwell. A flutter in Korra’s gut makes her pause, coat in hand, mind halfway out the door. She’s feeling the full effects of her imbibing and decides it’s best not to waste a prime opportunity to get laid. She flings her coat back on the hook and trots after Kuvira. 

Asami is flabbergasted that she’s being left behind in her own home. Her plan has blown up in her face in the most unexpected way possible. “Are you kidding me?!”

Korra glances back over her shoulder and teases, “lighten up, _ Ms. Sato.” _

* * *

When Korra catches up to Kuvira she’s kicking off her shoes at the foot of Asami’s bed and undoing the blouse that’s loosely draped over her upper body. If she hears Korra enter, she does well to hide it. As far as Korra can tell, Kuvira intends to enjoy her evening with or without anyone’s help. 

The level of self-possession needed to pull off a ploy like this speaks to Kuvira’s unwavering confidence. She rolls her top off her shoulders with the air of a divine being, knowing that her offer can’t be denied. Korra moves behind her slowly, daring to run a hand across the small of her back, around her side, and over the soft skin of her stomach. Kuvira exhales sharply at the coolness of Korra’s touch. She turns her head enough to see the determination in Korra’s gaze as she navigates Kuvira’s waistband, tickling her lower abs, and petting at the curly hairs just below.

The two women relax into each other, pressing front to back, and Kuvira lets her head fall onto Korra’s shoulder. She hums approvingly as willowy fingers continue lower, crowding between her thighs until she’s forced to part her legs further. 

“I wanted to return the favor from the other day,” Korra hums into Kuvira’s ear, lips ghosting past her earlobe. 

“I appreciate your commitment to reciprocity.” Kuvira closes her eyes, enjoying being played with, letting go of her need to control so Korra can sow into her desires. Nothing is more stimulating to Kuvira than being served without asking, being known without saying a word.

Korra’s free hand unsnaps the clasp of Kuvira’s bra before wrapping around to cup her freed breast. She massages the tender flesh, a firm nipple caught between fingers, quiet moans falling from Kuvira’s lips. Kuvira is explicitly aware of the heat dripping into Korra’s other hand, coating each flitting finger, soaking through her underwear until her thigh is damp and sticky against her slacks. 

Asami eventually swallows her pride and joins them. From the door of her bedroom, she watches her ex finger her girlfriend, drawing out hot panting breaths. The sound of Kuvira’s sex splashing against Korra’s touch is enticing in a way Asami can’t resist. 

She circles the two women to stand in front of Kuvira, who’s quickly losing her ability to keep her eyes open while Korra teases at her clenching entrance. “God, I hate you both,” she sighs wistfully. 

Korra smirks into the angle of Kuvira’s neck, licks at the sensitive skin, and responds, “we know.” Kuvira ignores her, grabs at Asami’s dress, and pulls her into a demanding kiss. She mimics the stroke of Korra’s fingers by swiping her tongue over Asami’s lips. Someone, finally, unbuttons her pants so they pool around her ankles. And in the midst of things, Asami comes out of her dress. Their skin meets, silk on silk, beautifully flushed, electrified with lust.

None of this has stopped Korra. Her delicate touch is attentive, coasting through Kuvira’s folds until every bit of her is sopping wet. 

“Fuck...I need you inside of me,” Kuvira begs, unashamed and needy. 

Asami can’t keep herself from grinning, Kuvira is a vision when she lets go and gives in. “Don’t worry, love. I’ll make sure she gives you everything you need.” She pushes Korra away, to which Kuvira whimpers, and lightly grabs under Kuvira’s chin. Slowly, she backs her way onto the bed, guiding the other CEO like an obedient plaything. “Come here,” Asami instructs as she lays out, resting on her elbow, legs spread open so her drooling pussy is right where she’s leading Kuvira’s face. 

Before making good use of her tongue, Kuvira inhales, her nose trailing the smooth skin of Asami’s inner thigh. Her mouth waters at the acidic musk, and her face drifts closer. Asami releases Kuvira’s chin, fists her dark, loose locks, and pushes her down until Asami’s clit is sucked between yielding lips. Kuvira draws the sensitive nub into her mouth and circles it with her tongue. 

“Yes, Vira, right there.” As Asami squirms against Kuvira’s laving, Korra undresses and retrieves a strap from the bedside drawer. Through the fog of her own ecstasy, Asami watches Korra saunter back to the foot of the bed and climb between Kuvira’s legs. She lifts Kuvira’s head and gives her clear instructions, “on your knees.” Kuvira obeys, arching her back until her ass is raised to the height of Korra’s waist.

“Fuck, I love this view,” Korra growls. She palms the two cheeks so her thumbs are pressed into Kuvira’s pulsing hole, spreading the lips apart so she can bow her head and fuck into her with a serpent like tongue. Korra can feel Kuvira’s walls pulling her in deeper, leaking into her mouth. She retracts with a firm sucking motion that makes Kuvira moan against Asami’s cunt.

“Did you still want me inside of you?”

“Mmmmhmm,” Kuvira mews with a desperate nod. Korra doesn’t make her wait any longer. The tip of her cock rubs against Kuvira’s clit when she leans forward, then she backs her hips up enough to line it up with her entrance. With one slow, deep pump she reaches Kuvira’s spot, forcing her head to spring back with a feeble cry. “Oh god, Korra.”

The quick break from licking Asami open is not well received, and the other woman bucks back into Kuvira’s mouth, wanton, greedy, and quickly getting closer to coming. Kuvira refocuses, flicking her tongue inside, then swiftly back to the clit, repeating the motion until Asami begins to seize. “Y—yes, baby, just like that.”

Hearing Asami succumb to Kuvira, sets Korra off. Her strokes quicken as she braces herself by grabbing at Kuvira’s hips, fucking harder so they smack together. Asami’s face twists into a strained expression, her abs tighten, and her toes curl into the sheets. The sight of it is enough to make Korra drip down her own leg.

Kuvira can feel Korra’s excitement mounting with every heavy thrust. Her legs tremble as she’s fucked harder and deeper. What would be screams, sound more like susurrous ramblings muffled by Asami’s miry pussy. It takes all of Kuvira’s focus to keep her tongue moving while a crashing orgasm rips through her body.

Asami keeps her pinned down with an unforgiving grip on her hair until she comes, spilling into Kuvira’s maw. The passing tremors are amplified by the vibrations of Kuvira moaning through her own orgasm. 

Korra slows her pace gradually, letting Kuvira leisurely descend from her peak. Once both spent women are relaxed again, and panting softly, Korra pulls out and sheds the strap. Kuvira collapses and rolls onto her back. “I am glad you returned the favor.”

“One more thing and we’ll call it even.” Korra gets back in bed and straddles Kuvira’s face. She tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear and peers into enthralled green eyes. “Please?”

Asking is hardly necessary. Kuvira wraps her arms around Korra’s thighs and brings her already messy mouth up to tender folds, engorged and supple. She laps at the juices she finds, swallowing as Korra’s sex seeps with need. “Hnnnn—god, that’s good. You do that so good,” Korra whimpers. She cups Kuvira’s face as she rides with weakening restraint. 

Asami has busied herself with her own pleasure, touching herself in sync with the scene unfolding before her. She bites her lip to stifle the guttural sounds rattling in her throat. Playing with her clit is only winding her up, it’s not nearly enough. The heat in her core compels her to take what she needs. 

After some maneuvering, Asami lowers herself between Kuvira’s legs so they’re flush against each other, glistening with sweat, sharing in their wetness. It’s impossible to tell where one woman begins and the other ends as they grind together, balletic yet reckless. The room fills with the resounding gush of all three women overflowing with rapture. Their moans create a symphony of amorous music. 

“I’m coming,” Korra cries as she winds her hips, losing her grasp on reality for a few long seconds. Her entire body stiffens while she comes, and her bones rattle against the intense contraction. Asami grabs Korra’s shoulder as she chases the same release. 

“Harder,” Kuvira husks. She lets go of Korra and claws at Asami’s thighs. “Yes, yes, yes,” she exalts. 

Korra dismounts and lays against the wall of pillows to enjoy the rest of the show. She draws lazy circles around her clit while Asami continues to trib, dragging out every bit of pleasure Kuvira can bear. Their mounds rub together with deliciously restrained pressure until they crescendo, tensing uncontrollably, muscles twitching as their walls flutter. 

Coming down from the high takes several minutes of heavy breathing, impressed chuckles, and sighs of disbelief. Kuvira wipes her face with the back of her forearm before relaxing into a heap of languid limbs. All three women organically find a comfortable position nestled into one another. Korra winds up as Kuvira’s big spoon with her face buried in a mess of loose curls. Asami is on the other side, her leg casually thrown over Kuvira’s hip. She steals a few sleepy kisses as they all begin to doze.

“Did that really just happen?” Korra whispers into the darkening room.

“It did, but don’t count on it _ ever  _ happening again,” Asami retorts before yawning.

Kuvira’s eyes are closed, but she hears and smiles at the exchange. If it were left up to her, they would do this again, and again, and again, and... 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so relieved they all finally fucked *everyone cheers*. Shoutout to liz for infecting my mind with bolin x varrick, and shoutout to me for giving Kuvira the strap and all the pussy she can handle. This was fun!


End file.
